


Somewhat Discussed

by gyromitra



Series: Said and Done verse [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Combat medic Jack, Crack, M/M, Said and Done AU, Swearing, fluff with specks of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 16:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17348438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyromitra/pseuds/gyromitra
Summary: In which field medic Jack 'Perpetually Not Getting Enough Sleep' Morrison gets co-opted to Strike Team after FUBAR military offensive.(Timeline break for Said and Done: Jack’s family is a wee bit more overbearing on the subject of his mental health so he finishes his MSN and misses out on SEP.)





	Somewhat Discussed

**Author's Note:**

> Incidentally, even if this is 'non-canon' Daid and Done, this will probably provide much more 'canon' background for characters.

In retrospection, the very first memory Gabriel had of John ‘Jack’ Francis Morrison was strangely devoid of the said man himself - and if he knew beforehand, some embarrassment might have been avoided. ‘Might’ was the key word because if there was ever one constant in the universe, it was the simple and unchangeable fact that the universe itself was always on the lookout for a way to screw things up for him and make everything awkward. So, maybe, it was better that the first time he had the then dubious pleasure of meeting Jack in person, he broke his nose while Jack had a hand in his guts. Literally.

And however one would look upon that one tidbit, Gabrel himself considered it was small mercy he had a hard time recalling the particular incident. The following one, though… Tough luck.

But back to the subject at hand, around nine months into the wonderful full service wellness spa the SEP was (because nothing cleansed the body like projectile vomiting your internal organs into the depths of the porcelain god) that one outside civilian supervisor who never broke her calm sarcastic demeanor stomped down the corridor while screaming in seething fury into her phone.

“What? What has he done this time? Are you shitting me? I knew, I fucking knew, I fucking knew I should’ve come to his fucking graduation! Mum and dad know? Oh, I’m calling Ajay, I’ll sic Ajay on him, I don’t fucking care! And his prescription? Yes, I know it was filled, but was he taking them, or was he just throwing the goddamn fucking bottles behind the couch?”

Gabriel just retreated back dead set on not getting swooped in whatever the hell was going on after he received a certified death glare from the woman when she finally caught him in the act of becoming one with the wall. The wall was painted aquamarine anyway, so he was on the losing side from the very start.

The first time Gabriel actually remembered meeting Jack, he was doped up to the gills on the painkillers and his mind was not dealing with this too well because what greeted him was a positively angelic voice addressing him. Truth be told, many things could be said about Morrison’s voice but angelic was not an adjective one would use unless one had a very specific idea about the angels. The fact that everything was fuzzy and his eyes had a lot of trouble focusing might have also explained the wonderful golden halo (which later turned out to be the halogen lamp on the ceiling).

“…and, with all due respect, sir, if you try to move your arse from the bed, I’m authorized to jab you with this very big and very blunt syringe full of very complex chemicals with very long names, of which at least two are classified as regular poison, and I’m told they will put you under for around five hours,” the angelic vision that would make a lesser man weep continued in the sweet cadence of the spheres. Gabriel was not the lesser man but on those painkillers, he was a weak, weak man.

“Marry me…?” Gabriel mumbled.

“Did you just proposition me, sir?”

“Yeah, I did…?”

“I think trying to bribe a medical officer with sexual favors does classify as a syringe-worthy offense.”

The jab was vicious enough that Gabriel felt it even through the woozy fog engulfing all of his senses. Because, apparently, John ‘Jack’ Francis Morrison was also a petty little vindictive shit and couldn’t care less about making a potential enemy out of a so-called supersoldier.

*

For Jack Morrison, on the other hand, the whole day (nearing his twenty-sixth hour since the last time he managed to sneak an hour-long nap in transit) was going to hell in a handbasket. In his own humble opinion, the command and the military intelligence (an oxymoron, as he heard it referred to colloquially quite often) have collectively shat their own bed but who was he to judge? The whole situation was fubar. Fucktangular. Fucktastic without the ‘tastic’ part. Evacuating the force this size under active enemy fire was an impossible feat. Well, at least until Strike Team arrived to try and slow the growing tide of Omnics which gave them time and opportunity to get to more of the wounded that otherwise would have been left behind as ‘acceptable losses’.

And it seemed that it had worked - for some time - until one of them managed to blow himself up on a mine, or something. Figures.

Jack sent the last stretcher back and hunkered down next to the pair. The woman was already putting down the biotic field when he shouted over the noise.

“Have you checked for shrapnel and bullets?”

“We don’t have time!”

“There’s time during evac!”

And that’s how Jack ended with his nose broken while almost up to his elbow in someone’s intestines because the motherfucker just woke up and swung. Really, he should get a medal for not ripping anything more than it already was, and another one for extracting the metal junk when almost choking on the blood that went down his throat. Maybe, even a third medal was deserved for finishing the sutures.

“Okay, you can run the field now,” Jack muttered stuffing a torn off part of his own undershirt into his nasal cavities, “and I’m going to lie down and sleep. Wake me when we get there,” he added looking at his watch. “I’ll need to run some checks on site.”

Luck would have it that was one of the fancy crafts and Jack only got half an hour in, definitely too little, but his life was always this shifty mean little fucker that threw curveballs every chance it got.

The base was a small temporary unit running on a skeleton crew with no real medical facilities, with evac orders standing for the next ten hours. Jack spent the first hour calmly screaming at the changing gallery of different bureaucrats through his comms until he got to Colonel Ramiz. At least the rest of Strike Team had fun listening in judging by the comments and the occasional sniggering.

“Sir, with all due respect,” by which Jack meant no respect whatsoever, “I want you to know that I have a so-called supersoldier with shrapnel in his stomach, and I need very precise information on how to treat him if he’s to be of any use in a day or two. Yeah, sir, I can see how you’re just going to fly in someone with enough clearance here within the closest two hours,” the sarcasm was palatable. “Yes, sir, I know this obviously is a strictly need-to-know basis, so I’m asking you to patch me to Achan Nguyen on the secure channel. Oh, just tell her it’s her brother calling, John Francis Morrison.”

There it was, the incredulous 'Francis’ in the background, and Jack turned to glare.

“Yes, Colonel, sir, 'that’ John Francis Morri… Motherfucker!” The line clicked off but then connected again after few seconds. “Hey, sis. Yeah, I’m good. Clusterfuck. Mhm. No, no, sis, I’m good. I got one Gabriel Reyes, shrapnel in the abdominal cavity, removed, stitched as well as I could, but they got those new gen biotics, and the first scan showed abnormal growths on internal… Yeah. No, I can do it, but he goes through anesthesia like candy, and I’d prefer he doesn’t break anything more than my nose. No, that all good… Okay, give me a sec,” Jack frantically searched for a pen and paper to take notes. “Wow. This would kill an elephant. Thank, sis. Give love to the rest. Yeah, I’m taking care. Yeah, I’m taking my pills diligently. Could you stop embarrassing me in front of the whole Strike Team? Bye. Yes, bye, I’m disconnecting.”

Scavenging the needed drugs took about half an hour, another half hour he spent mixing everything together in right proportions, just in time for the sleeping princess to start coming to. After it became obvious his patient was really out of it, Jack decided to have some fun because, really, who could blame him after a day like this? The guy broke his nose while he just wanted to help, and anyway, he was up and standing only thanks to the copious amounts of caffeine and sheer spite that seemed to be his main drive recently.

“…and, with all due respect, sir, if you try to move your arse from the bed, I’m authorized to jab you with this very big and very blunt syringe full of very complex chemicals with very long names, of which at least two are classified as regular poison, and I’m told they will put you under for around five hours,” Jack let his mouth run on autopilot at the man staring at him with something akin to awestruck expression on his face.

“Marry me…?“

"Did you just proposition me, sir?” Jack blinked. He had his previous patients tell him some strange things under the influence but this one was a first.

“Yeah, I did…?” There was a genuine wonder to be heard in the hoarse voice.

“I think trying to bribe a medical officer with sexual favors does classify as a syringe-worthy offense,” Jack snickered and stabbed him in the arm with the aforementioned syringe. The cocktail worked wonders.

“So, how’s the patient doing?” The woman stood leaning on the doorframe. “Ana Amari.”

“Good. And the name’s Jack,” he muttered while focusing on the image on the scanner.

“Not 'John Francis’?”

“John’s my father, and Francis was my grandpa,” Jack cut away another fold of new tissue. “Before you ask, you use prototype biotics, they’re good, very good, but they’re only machines and do what they’re programmed to, and do it good, but they get confused when it’s more complicated than just rebuilding, like, you know, they go batshit crazy on complicated injuries like here, and coupled with abnormal healing factor, there’s going to be additional growths and things sticking together, that shouldn’t be. Get stuck together, I mean.”

“You seem to know a lot about this, Jack,” Ana nodded.

“Yeah, you get to use this shit, they teach us about this shit, and sorry, I’m really tired right now, can’t really focus on two things at once. Can you hand me the blue laser-pointer looking thingy?” Jack extended his bloodied and towards her. “Yeah, that one. Topical biotics. And my sister was, is, involved in the program, and I really shouldn’t be talking about that but screw that, I’ll probably get court martial about the whole clusterfuck anyway.”

“I’m sure we can put in a good word, or two, on your behalf,” Ana smirked.

“Oh, yeah, would be nice, but first let me sleep for a day or two in the brig, can you?” Jack stitched the incision and then applied the nanomachines over it. “He should be waking up in around an hour, and probably be at ninety, ninety-five percent on evac, regardless, you should have him go through a full physical at the closest possible time because there might be still things that slipped past me. Definitely, there are. But,” Jack fell into the chair next to the bed with a feeling he would not be getting out of it again, “probably nothing of the kind that’s life-threatening, or very inconvenient. More than usual. What’s his usual anyway?”

“Dorky grumpy,” Jack had to admit Ana had very pleasant laughter. “You are going with us, by the way, I’ll make him apologize.”

“It was nice even if he was tripping balls.”

“What, breaking your nose?”

“Oh, that. Sorry,” Jack slurred feeling his consciousness leaving him. “Need to sleep…”

And then, there was only sweet darkness.


End file.
